


The Underlying Truth

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Neverwhere - Neil Gaiman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-21
Updated: 2008-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 05:48:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1634843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for Lyss</p>
    </blockquote>





	The Underlying Truth

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Lyss

 

 

"It's, er, not that I want to leave you alone here," Richard was saying. "I don't. And I'm more than grateful for the hospitality you've shown me since I came back. I owe you an enormous debt of gratitude. It's just that, well, I've been used to living on my own for so long, and now I've been here nearly a month..." His voice trailed off as Door's eyes narrowed. The speech was not going as Richard had imagined it in front of the mirror.

Having become accustomed to his presence at her ancestral home in the weeks after his return, Door had been somewhat less than ecstatic when Richard had announced at breakfast a week earlier that he wanted to find his own apartment. This was, of course, after Richard had explained what he meant by the phrase "to let"; such a thing as currency had little use in a system of fiefs and baronies. At first, Door had been gloomy and downcast. Today, she had seemingly recovered her confidence as a member of the elite of London Below. She continued to regard him coldly as Richard felt his collar shrinking uncomfortably.

"To be quite frank, Richard, I still don't see what skill you'd have to offer anyone with room for you. You haven't any gold, and you're too old to be an apprentice. But..." she continued, more cheerily, "You know that you're completely welcome to stay here as my guest until you've found your feet.

"I, um... yes. Thank you, but--"

"You're most certainly welcome. Do let me know if you're in need of anything for your apartment, and I'll have one of the servants take care of it."

"Er..."

Door smiled benevolently. "I'm glad we got this out of the way." She continued signing her documents. Richard stood for a moment in the study, watching her as she toiled through the last of Lord Portico's business at the ancient mahogany desk. She folded the paper she had just signed into an envelope, sealed it, and looked up.

"Was there something else, Richard?"

"Just... No, not really." His face burned as he turned and shuffled out of the room.

Richard had been set in his resolve to have the conversation that Door had so easily just deflected, but he had to admit: she was right. It vexed him; he was a knight of the Earl's Court, and supposedly the greatest hunter in London Below--didn't that count for something? ...Apparently not. Richard cursed himself for his stupidity. _What did I think? That I'd somehow have a spine when I came back? That I'd have a job? A place to live? Respect?_ Then he decided he had respect after all, only it was the kind of respect one gets from being awarded a degree _honoris causa_. Technically, people still had to call you "doctor", but it didn't mean anyone had to hire you as a professor. As for skills, Richard was quite sure he was out of luck, having formerly been a bureaucrat, and therefore peculiar to the world above.

The truth was, Richard was tired of being continually lost. It was one thing to navigate the streets of the Undercity; that was hard enough. But to live in Door's mansion was nothing short of nerve-wracking. Every time he thought he had mastered the labyrinthine maze of hallways, doors, and crawlspaces, there would be another that he'd somehow overlooked. He could hardly find his way to the dining room from his bedroom without spending twenty minutes wandering through yet another library or drawing room. Door's father, Richard decided, must have been slightly mad.

Finally back in his room (in only ten minutes this time!), Richard considered his options. Living with Door certainly had its advantages, and she did seem to enjoy his company. Too much, in fact. She'd promised to help him get started, but she had grown more and more... what was the word? Ladylike? Royal? Superior? She was The Lady Door, Richard decided, and he was Dick Mayhew, Ex-Junior Partner at one of the most respected firms in an alternate universe nobody here cared about. She took him for granted, plain and simple. Why should he be forced to stay there? There were things he didn't feel comfortable doing in a room that wasn't his--not, of course, that he had anyone to be doing them with; there were other places he'd rather...

Repressing that line of thought, Richard made his first decisive move of the week. He would go to the market. Might as well, he thought. Maybe someone there would have need of, er, the Honorary Greatest Hunter in London Below.

* * * *

The smell of petrol thick in the air, the marquis de Carabas wound his way through the Floating Market, which tonight was being held in the cramped Warwick Avenue tube station. It was a small affair; only about a quarter of the usual vendors were in attendance. Many of the ones who had come were forced to set up shop on the escalators or on pieces of plywood laid over the tracks, which had been closed early due to maintenance further south on the Bakerloo line. The marquis tipped his hat to the pungent band of Sewer Folk who had begun gesturing wildly amongst themselves as he passed quickly by, then fought back a wave of nausea as their distinctive scent triggered memories from the previous month. Not one to be hindered by such abstract things as emotions, he strode onward, till he finally glimpsed the man at the far end of the platform. He didn't know what was in the package the man was to give him, but Old Bailey had assured de Carabas that his debt would be paid so long as he delivered it. And if there was one thing de Carabas hated, it was to owe someone _else_ a favor. He had almost reached the man when he noticed a group of women in black velvet dresses and extravagant jewelry surrounding a poor unfortunate who looked to be quite out of his element. _Ah well_ , he thought. Everyone had to make a living somehow. And there was the truce. Shrugging, he approached the man, who handed him a small black box and promptly vanished into the crowd.

"Now, back away," someone nearby was saying. "I do have a knife. And it's clean, too!"

Turning, the marquis got a closer look at the poor soul being accosted by the Velvets; it was none other than "Richard Mayhew!" The marquis, in his splendidly shabby cloak, swept into the circle without so much as an introduction. "Fancy seeing you, alone, here, with them!" The marquis gestured to the group. One of the velvet-clad women seemed to recognize him and began edging backward.

"Er, yes, well, I was just... saying... hello," said Richard, lamely. "You remember Lamia, yes?"

"How could I forget," de Carabas replied, reaching out and putting his arm around the nervous-looking Velvet, "such a disgustingly public display of affection?" Lamia looked as if she would rather have been anywhere else. "Did I not make you a very specific promise, Lamia, about your neck, should you have any more interactions with Mr. Mayhew?"

Lamia hissed at the marquis and tried to break free. De Carabas maintained his grip. "Seeing as it's the Market, though, I expect, and I'm sure Richard will agree, that we can all go about our business without any unpleasantness. In exchange, of course, for a small favor?"

"Such presumption," Lamia muttered. "Keep him. His heart wasn't in it last time, anyway. I could tell."

Never betraying his surprise, the marquis looked at her a moment more and released her. "I keep my promises, you know. Don't give me another reason to follow through on that one."

After the Velvets had departed, the marquis turned back to Richard. "You're welcome."

"It's funny," said Richard, "that you had to step in again. I was sure after everything last month that I'd be at least somewhat more competent this time round. I expect I owe you a favor."

"That _is_ the general way things work here," de Carabas smiled. "Don't worry about it, though. How has Door been? _She_ does owe me a favor."

Richard looked uneasy for a few seconds, then answered, "She's quite a lady."

De Carabas chuckled, and started to reply, when Richard suddenly blurted, "Can I stay with you?"

They looked into each other's eyes for several seconds, unblinking, and an understanding seemed to pass between them.

"Let's get out of here," said the marquis, simply. 

 


End file.
